by David Poyer
TWO days later, Dan stood in the hangar, swaying to the rise and fall of the deck and worrying about the fact that he’d traded away to the Aussies the protective suits his crew would need if the incoming Bo-105 helicopter, now a speck against the clouds, burst into flames or crashed. He’d ordered fire hoses laid out, but his fire party looked apprehensive in cotton dungarees. He couldn’t help it now, so he just squared his shoulders and sighed, glancing from the approaching aircraft back toward five gray shapes lurching against an uneasy sea.
For the past day and a half, the TNTF had steamed generally east under the tactical direction of the CO of the Nala. Nala was an Indonesian frigate slightly smaller than Gaddis but more modern, armed with Exocets and a 120mm gun. The other ships in the formation were Monginsidi, another Indonesian, the former USS Claud Jones; a German-built Singaporean missile boat, RSN Sea Lion; the second largest ship in the task force, the Malaysian RMN Hang Tuah, a British-built all-gun frigate; and RPN Miguel Malvar, a Filipino corvette that Jane’s said had been the Ngoc Hoi when there had been a South Vietnamese Navy and before that USS Brattleboro, a destroyer escort built by the Pullman Car Company in 1944. It suffered several breakdowns a day and usually trailed far astern of the rest of the group. On the plus side, it carried World War II–issue forty-millimeters. Doolan was already laying plans to get over to her at the first opportunity, to beg, cumshaw, or steal a few rounds of ammo.
Altogether it was a farrago of modern ships and museum pieces, as interesting a force as Dan had ever sailed in, and possibly the most dangerous. Not to any enemy, but to itself. Communications were uneven, with radio frequencies all over the spectrum, language difficulties, and no common signal book. Someone was sure to misunderstand even the simplest course change, leading to several extremely close shaves when they had attempted to maneuver in a circular formation. The Singaporeans and Malaysians had been trained by the British; the Filipinos, by the Americans; and the Indonesians seemed to be in a league by themselves. The weather didn’t help, with squalls and a monsoon-driven sea from the northeast that had the smaller craft nearly on their beam ends much of the time. At last, to Dan’s relief, Nala’s CO had given up the night before and put them in a line ahead at a thousand yards’ interval. Now each ship simply followed the one in front of it, like a chain of circus elephants swaying trunk to tail across the island-dotted expanse between Borneo and Sumatra. This worked better, except, of course, when a ship had to sheer out for one reason or another, such as Dan’s moving out now in order to get the wind on his bow. Hang Tuah—“Hang Tough,” as the crew had immediately dubbed her—had swung out to follow him, then realized her error and hastily reinserted herself into the column.
The little helicopter’s engines became audible, and shortly after it touched down on its skids as lightly as a dragonfly finding a perch. Dan noted the anchor-in-pentagon of the Indonesian Navy. Bundled in a green flight suit, Admiral Suriadiredja jumped out. Lenson glanced over his shoulder, seeing that the signalmen were on the ball; the task force commander’s pennant was already snapping out into the steady wind. The flag officer straightened, spied Dan as he stepped forward, and met him, hand extended. Dan saluted, then shook the admiral’s hand, noting that the flight suit was stained dark under the armpits and at the neck. No wonder; the heat was intense and the humidity could only be higher if they were actually underwater. Dan led him forward as the chopper began to rev up again preparatory to taking off.
On the bridge rain rattled against the windows. The doors thumped as the boatswain dogged them down. Usmani clawed his way up the ladder, one hand for himself, the other balancing a tray of iced tea and sandwiches against the plunge and heave as Gaddis presented her port bow to rollers the color of dollar bills.
Suriadiredja refused Dan’s offer of the skipper’s chair with a curt shake of the head. He stood before the chart table instead, eyeing the column as Gaddis neared, angling in to resume station. Hang Tuah had moved up, not understanding the U.S. frigate was going to return, and only a narrow slot presented itself. Dan had a word with Zabounian, who was conning, warning him to fall in slightly off-bearing to port, then ease the helm over a degree at a time, give the ship behind a graceful interval in which to fall back. Suriadiredja listened, weather-worn face expressionless as graven teak. He did not touch the sandwiches but drank half his iced tea before he said, “You’re a cautious ship handler, Lenson.”
Dan couldn’t help remembering Khashar and wondering what the Pakistani skipper was doing now. “I try to maneuver smoothly, sir. There are enough surprises out here.”
“I have to ask you something.” The admiral looked around at the bridge team, all staring forward or down into radarscopes or otherwise intent on their work. He thumbed through the ready charts on the chart table, selected one, and tucked it under his arm. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“My cabin, sir, one deck down. Careful on the ladder.”
“Do you recall Dr. Guo? At our conference in Singapore?” were Suriadiredja’s first words after Dan’s door was closed.
“Certainly do, sir. Impressive woman.”
“Did you know that General Lee is Lee Kuan Yew’s son?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Dr. Guo had an interesting theory, about these phantom ships. Remember what she said? How they were disappearing into China?”
Again Dan said he did, and Suriadiredja nodded as if to himself. He gazed out at the surging gray sea. “It is possible one of our submarines will be able to join the exercise off Palawan.”
Dan blinked, not sure he was following the change of subject, whether the Indonesian was just making small talk or aiming at some point. He cleared his throat. “One of the 209s, sir? Having a submarine might be useful. For surveillance, I mean. Pick up any pirates before they know they’re being followed.”
“We may be acquiring more,” Suriadiredja said. “You may know of our plans to greatly increase our surface fleet. We may be purchasing several command destroyers and frigates from the Dutch. We already have a program for twenty-three new frigates, all locally built. We did not have such a good experience with the hydrofoils we had contracted for with Boeing.”
Dan gave the task force commander a sidelong glance. Why the mention of Boeing? What did this man know about him? “Not every new program works out,” he said tentatively.
“No. But Indonesia is doing well from this crisis in the Persian Gulf. Petroleum sales are very good. Most of it is being refined into jet fuel in Singapore.” Dan remembered the smoky pall smothering the harbor. “The question will be how to expend that foreign exchange in the best interests of the country. There seem to be two schools of thought. Submarines, more destroyers, air forces … there is also the OPV school.” OPVs were offshore patrol vessels, like the Sea Wolf.
Dan said, “As far as optimal force mixes, that would be an interesting analytical problem. But I’m sure you have better advice than I could offer you, sir.”
“Perhaps. However, I understand that you are close friends with several Washington policy makers.”
Dan took his time and thought about that one, realizing that the subject had ratcheted a notch closer to whatever goal the man opposite had in mind; realizing, too, that getting to it might take time, judging by the conversation to date. “Close friends? I don’t think so. I know a few—”
“Miss Blair Titus. Senator Bankey Talmadge. Dr. Edward Szerenci. If there is a change of political climate in Washington, they could be very high in the new administration.”
Dan would have gaped, but the bridge buzzer gave him a moment to recover himself. He said “Excuse me, sir,” and took two quick steps to it. “Captain.”
“Sir, OOD. We’re back in formation. A little tight fore and aft, but we’re shoehorned in.”
Dan told him very well, to keep a sharp eye on the weather and the radar and make sure all contact reports were made to Gaddis now, as the flagship. He fastened the cover on the speaking tube and said
to Suriadiredja, “I don’t think there’s any possibility President Bush will lose in ’92. Unless he totally plows this war with Saddam. Which I don’t think’s going to happen.”
“Nevertheless, you have the contacts.”
“I know those people you’ve mentioned, yes.”
“And I understand that you have also had a certain interest for some time now in the Chinese.”
Dan was finding this more and more astonishing. When they’d first met, at the Hyatt, Suriadiredja had not even known his name, had confused it with that of his ship, called him Captain Gaddis. Now the man knew his history, his associates, might even know that he’d been suspected of being a Chinese agent when he was working with Joint Cruise Missiles in Crystal City. He said, tightly, “I’ve acted under orders at all times.”
“I don’t doubt it, considering that those you acted against caused the death of your wife.”
“My fiancée, but yeah, that was one reason. How come you know so much about me? Sir?”
“I was in Washington then,” Suriadiredja said. “As a student at your National War College, but I tried to make contacts outside that rather narrow circle. I knew the military attaché from the People’s Republic, for example.”
Dan went cold inside, recalling the heavy features of the man he even now, years later, would not mind killing. “You knew Colonel Zhang.”
“Not intimately, but we met more than once.”
Dan nodded slowly, trying to fight off the bad memories. “You said you had a question for me.”
“Just your personal opinion. I wanted to ask you: What is going to be the impact of Tienanmen Square on U.S. policy toward Southeast Asia?”
“I don’t think it will have much of an impact,” said Dan. “Maybe slow down some technology transfer. But I doubt much more will happen.”
“That is unfortunate. But only to be expected, I suppose.”
Seeming disappointed, though by what aspect of their conversation Dan could not tell, the admiral unfolded the chart he’d taken from the bridge, spreading it out on the table. It was a small-scale chart of the South China Sea. He placed a finger on a group of tiny dots off the coast of Vietnam.
“The Paracels,” Dan said.
“The former Paracels. Owned and garrisoned by South Vietnam until in 1974 the Chinese saw an opportunity. Saigon was isolated. America had withdrawn her support. The Soviet Union was not interested. North Vietnam was too dependent on Chinese supplies to protest. The Chinese invaded, fought a naval battle, sank several Vietnamese destroyers. Now they are the Xisha Islands, with radar surveillance sites and a naval base.”
Dan studied the chart. “We’ll be patrolling considerably to the east.”
“In Phase Three. That is correct.” Suriadiredja cocked his head and sucked air between his teeth. “But I’m not talking about our current operation, Dan. I’m talking about the strategic picture. Jakarta is concerned about the gradual extension of Chinese hegemony southward.”
“I don’t really see them extending hegemony,” Dan said.
“In the same way none of us can see a tree growing,” said the admiral. “It is a very gradual expansion, by a regime that plans not in terms of the next quarter but of the next century. But they have already advanced claims to the entire South China Sea, reserving the right not only to develop its resources but also to prevent passage through it.”
“By ‘resources’ you mean fishing rights?”
“Fishing certainly, and transit rights, but most likely the real attraction is twofold: the recovery of past Chinese glory and the exploitation of subsea oil reserves. They intimidate their neighbors with probes and veiled threats while at the same time protesting that they are a peace-loving and trade-loving nation. But each time opportunity beckons, they take another step. They are gradually territorializing what was once open sea, and the overall intent is plain.”
Suriadiredja indicated the Xishas again. “As I said, the western boundary of the sea basin is already secured, by their island-grabbing in the Paracels. Truly unfortunate, that the United States permitted that to happen. China could have been stopped at her doorstep. Since then the Russians have withdrawn from Camh Ranh Bay, leaving Vietnam isolated as China builds airfields and bases on Woody Island. We were no admirers of the Soviets, but it is unfortunate their Pacific Fleet is leaving. It is one less obstacle to China’s creep south. In 1997, Hong Kong will revert to rule from Beijing. On the east, the Pratas are Taiwanese; whenever China moves to reincorporate Formosa, they will pass into their hands. The Philippines are too weak to resist. Only American support maintains their claims, and the United States is steadily retreating from Asia.
“So far each step has been tiny. An uninhabited reef. A reverting colony. But their next step is a long one.” He placed his fingers on several dots north of Borneo. “Two years ago they landed military forces in the Spratley Islands. If they continue to occupy them, the entire bowl of the China Sea will be encompassed. They will have taken de facto possession and, with application of air power or an aircraft carrier, will be able to back up their occupation with force. We are attempting to settle the matter peacefully, but China refuses to discuss her claims.”
Dan suddenly realized why he was being treated to this treatise on power politics in Southeast Asia. The naïveté of the admiral’s assumption made him smile. He said, “Sir, if this is some kind of diplomatic démarche, if that’s the right word, I’m not the guy you want to carry it.”
Suriadiredja shrugged. “Perhaps not. But I am looking into the future. And, in a way, into the past. For what I fear is that history will repeat itself. As you know, the Second World War began in Indonesia.”
“It did?”
“Yes. Once the British, Dutch, and Americans cut off their petroleum supplies, the Japanese had to decide whether to give up their conquests in China or move south for our oil. They decided to attack. Pearl Harbor, the Battle of the Java Sea, the fall of Singapore and Corregidor and the Philippines was the result.
“What I fear is that what interest America has in the rest of the world will vanish with the end of the cold war. Your leases on Clark and Subic Bay will run out very shortly. If they are not renewed, your withdrawal will accelerate. Meanwhile China advances into your place, intimidating or absorbing the regional powers one by one. In the end, the ASEAN powers could face a resurgent China across a sea she wholly dominates. A resurgent nationalism could unite her populations in Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, the Philippines … and my own country, which has large numbers of overseas Chinese. The only power by then capable of opposing her in South Asia will be Indonesia. Our population is nearly as large as that of the United States and far larger than that of Japan or Vietnam. We will fight, if we must, but we should prefer not to have to fight alone.”
“If China attacked you, I’m sure the United States would be by your side.”
“As she was at the side of the Philippines when Japan struck?” said Suriadiredja. “And South Vietnam? Your country has a strange blindness. You do not seem to be able to recognize your enemies. As long as your commercial interests profit from the relationship, your leaders will not call China to account in any other way than with words or possibly token restriction of armaments sales. We do not propose to share that strategic procrastination. The time to fence in China is now, not after she has gained powerful positions and built up her fleet.”
“Well, sir,” Dan said, “basically, I wish you well. If I have a chance to speak to anyone in Washington, I’ll be sure and pass on your concerns. I’m not an admirer of the People’s Republic, though I like the Chinese as people. But, basically, Gaddis is here to help you operate against pirates.”
Suriadiredja nodded, face relaxed. “And do you know something? I have the feeling that if we search diligently, we may just find some. Let’s pull out that operation order, now, and make sure we understand Phases One and Two.”
* * *
THE admiral said he’d changed his intent to move
to Gaddis, that Nala would remain his flagship. When he left, the helo rising again into the sky, Dan stood looking after it till it vanished from sight. He caught a distant glimpse of the Indonesian corvette sheered out to the north. “Secure flight quarters; secure the ready boat crew,” he told Engelhart. The warrant nodded, and Dan headed forward again. He swung his gaze up and down the column, confirming that Zabounian was headed back to station again, then ducked inside the skin of the ship, slamming the door to as a wave crashed into the side, reaching up a rattling spatter of warm, salty spray.
He stopped briefly in the radio room to discuss Compline’s attempts to make contact with Pearl Harbor. The radioman chief said he’d been trying, but no one seemed to be guarding the clear termination. He’d keep at it, and he had other ideas about getting back in touch, but he suggested they duck into Subic as they went north, later in the exercise. They still had the racks and power supplies; all they needed was one old KW-7 to plug in and they could be back up on Fleet Broadcast. Dan said he’d see; maybe they could do that.
His next stop was in the chief’s mess, where he’d asked Mellows to meet him. The big torpedoman was the only one there, sitting at a freshly wiped table over a mug of battery acid. As Dan came in Mellows was looking off into the distance. With his massive arms, deep chest, and bald head he looked like some torpid yet powerful oriental god. Dan motioned him down as Mellows noticed him and came to his feet. “Hi, Chief. Look, put your chief master-at-arms hat on, OK? I want to talk about something that’s been bothering me.”
He’d had to take somebody into his confidence, and he didn’t trust Juskoviac. Not because he suspected him—the exec had been back in the States when the ship was in Fayal—but because the guy was incapable of keeping his mouth shut. And whatever duty Dan assigned him, he’d still have to get somebody else to actually do it.
He’d settled on Marsh Mellows for a couple of reasons. The chief master-at-arms was the closest thing to a police chief there was aboard ship. Aboard larger units, cruisers to carriers, the position was a primary duty, with rated, professional chief masters-at-arms. Aboard Gaddis, with her withered, hodgepodge crew, it was an additional duty. Mellows had volunteered for the post, replacing a chief who’d been detached before Dan had reported aboard in Philly. The fact that Mellows had no torpedoes aboard gave him the time, and he’d studied up on the two-volume master-at-arms rate manual. His two assistants were volunteers, too.
